


A Grief That Can't Be Spoken

by J_E_McCormick



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Gen, at all, pairings are only briefly mentioned and not at all the point of the fic, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormick/pseuds/J_E_McCormick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s only one empty chair in their usual corner of the Musain, but that’s all it takes. The whole back room is blanketed in a deathly hush, voices speaking only in gentle whispers. Everyone skirts the vicinity of the chair, but no-one’s eyes can leave it; it suddenly becomes the centre of the room, the focus point around which they all slowly circle. At this moment, it seems very hard, and almost wrong, to imagine that they could recover from this – that maybe Courfeyrac will be able to smile brightly again, that Enjolras’ fervour will return full-force, that Eponine will return to her feisty self and even Cosette will likely return – and so they don’t. </p><p>They skirt around the empty chair, and stare, as if looking long enough will make them accept that Marius is not there and will not return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Live, But You Are Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This inspiration smacked me in the face and I'm not sure if it's been done before but probably because it's just your basic inversion of canon.  
> No-one dies - except Marius.

“Hey, Marius.”

As usual, there’s nothing but silence from the gravestone, but Courfeyrac likes talking aloud anyway. He always has loved the sound of his own voice. His mouth is curved into his usual, easy smile, but there’s a tightness to his expression, grief shining clear in his eyes, and his voice is soft and low.

“It’s been a year now... wow, a year. It seems... like so much longer, but also no time at all, you know? Like it was just yesterday that I walked into the apartment and you were there being your dork of a self and grinning like an idiot ‘cause you were sending sappy texts to Cosette.” Courfeyrac chuckles slightly, shifting his feet, turning the bouquet of flowers in his hands. “She’s fine. I mean, she’s still sad – we all are, we miss you, we really do – but... but she’s coping. And she’s got Ep to look after her. They look after each other. They’re really close now, you know. I mean, they were great friends before but now they’re inseparable.”

Courfeyrac pauses for a moment, a brief respite where usually there’d be a response. Maybe something along the lines of how strong they are – because Marius has always been very proud of his girls, how strong and brave they are – and maybe a joke about how he should never have let them be friends because he was fairly certain his girlfriend was going to leave him for his best friend.

 _Best friend after you, of course, Courf,_ he’d add as Courfeyrac pulled a dramatic routine of a hurt gasp and a hand over his heart.

“Everyone else is getting better too. Joly’s stopped pulling out his hair, and he isn’t doing his manic-medic rounds anymore. I think Bossuet’s relieved about that.” Joly had been a wreck for a couple of months after the accident. As the group’s medic, he’d felt some sort of responsibility. “Enjolras is still a bit of a mother-hen at rallies, doesn’t like letting us out of his sight, especially if things are getting a bit rough. He goes ballistic at us, but he’s just worried, y’know? Hey, you’ll never guess – well, okay, maybe you would, I mean it’s been as obvious as the sun in the sky for years now – but him and Grantaire got together, a few months back. And he made the first move, too. You owe me twenty, Pontmercy.” Courfeyrac laughs, and imagines the face Marius would pull at him as he hands over twenty euros. His nose would scrunch up and he’d whine a little, but still press the money into Courfeyrac’s palm.

Courfeyrac’s laughter dies, and he hunches into himself slightly. He becomes small, quiet, sombre – his clear blue eyes shine a little, and he bites on his bottom lip to keep it from wobbling.

“I really miss you, man.” He whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “I still can’t believe that... that I knew you for so long, lived with you for five years, you were like a brother to me and... a-and then suddenly, you’re not here anymore.” He sniffs, and takes a deep shuddering breath. His gaze transfers from the ground at his feet to the grey clouds in the sky. “I had to sell the apartment. I went back there a few times and I-... I half expected you to come back, just walk in through the door. I couldn’t stand it being empty. So I’ve moved in with Ferre and Jehan. It’s nice, having them there with me all the time. Finding a big enough bed was a pain.”

His eyes search the sky, as if hoping he’d be able to find Marius there. Eventually he looks down, back at the gravestone in front of him – “ _En_ _mémoire de Marius Pontmercy, 15 août 1992 - 6 juin 2013; Il va beaucoup nous manquer.”_ – and sighs, rubbing his eyes clear of the gathering tears.

“I’d better get back. Jehan will go spare if I’m missing too long. Everyone’ll be over to see you soon, but... I wanted a bit of time to talk to you on my own.” Courfeyrac nodded, smiling slightly again. He bent down to carefully place the flowers, arranging them carefully. “Jehan helped pick out the bouquet. You know he knows more about flowers than I do. White carnations and pink roses, there’s a meaning in there somewhere.”

He stands up again and steps back from the grave.

“Well, I’ll talk to you soon, Marius.” He murmurs quietly, and lingers for only a moment before he tears himself away and heads home.


	2. An Empty Chair At Our Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a week since the funeral and their first formal meeting since the rally, although they are not getting much done. Usually they have one formal meeting a week, with various casual gatherings between, but everyone has been away and dealing with their grief in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles as I badly rip off 'Empty Chairs' lyrics for chapter titles*
> 
> Anyway, this story is going to go backwards - that is, this chapter is set before the first one. It's a weird concept, I know, but I once read this heartbreaking fic that did it and I'm hoping it'll work here too. Just lemme know.

There’s only one empty chair in their usual corner of the Musain, but that’s all it takes. The whole back room is blanketed in a deathly hush, voices speaking only in gentle whispers. Everyone skirts the vicinity of the chair, but no-one’s eyes can leave it; it suddenly becomes the centre of the room, the focus point around which they all slowly circle. It’s been a week since the funeral – a sombre affair, with the exception of Courfeyrac’s livid outburst when he’d spotted Marius’ grandfather – and their first formal meeting since the rally, although they are not getting much done. Usually they have one formal meeting a week, with various casual gatherings between, but everyone has been away and dealing with their grief in their own ways.

Courfeyrac is probably the hardest hit – he was the closest of them to Marius, having known him for three years previous to his association with the group, since he had taken him in after he had been thrown out and disowned by his grandfather. He hasn’t returned to their apartment since he went to collect some of his things before the funeral; Courfeyrac has always, always hated being alone, and he’d been living with Marius in their shared apartment for almost five years, and for it to suddenly be empty is too much for him, so since then he’s been living with Combeferre and Enjolras, and Jehan has managed to squeeze in there too. Courfeyrac is in Combeferre’s shirt and trousers, both just slightly too big, with one of Jehan’s huge floral monstrosities of a jumper, and he’s slumped in his usual chair with his eyes fixed on Marius’ empty place. Jehan is hovering at his shoulder, but Courfeyrac barely acknowledges him; he’s silent, and still, and cold, and it’s so horribly out of character and _wrong_ that everyone feels all the more thrown off-kilter and out of balance because of it.

Combeferre is sat next to Enjolras, who is staring off into the middle distance, like he has been a lot recently. The most worrying thing, though – because Enjolras stares off into empty space a lot anyway – is that he hasn’t seen the blonde planning any new rallies; no leaflets, no documents, no speeches. Enjolras is either buried in schoolwork or silent and still and looking at nothing, and it’s unnerving. He sometimes looks at Courfeyrac – poor, broken Courfeyrac – and there are apologies in his gaze and Combeferre knows, really, why Enjolras has retreated into his schoolwork and his mind. He blames himself, and he worries for the rest of his friends. Enjolras loves them all so deeply, even cynical Grantaire and naive Marius, and for him to have lost one of them has affected him deeply. Combeferre might be tempted to assure him with quiet murmurs of “it’s not your fault” if he thought it would really do much. But he knows it won’t, so he just sits beside his friend, and if Enjolras’ hand finds its way onto his knee and grips it tightly he doesn’t mention it, only covering the hand with his own in a confirmation of solidarity.

Eponine hasn’t come in to serve them like she usually would, and they think she’s probably not working at the moment anyway. From what little they’ve heard, she’s with Cosette and Grantaire, who has somehow become a pillar of support for the girls. Musichetta joins them occasionally, and when Bossuet relays the information she tells them, he says that Cosette spends most of her time wrapped up in Eponine’s arms, who is in turn being coddled by Grantaire, and Musichetta is there to make sure they all remember to eat properly, because as much as Grantaire tries he’s nowhere near as good a cook as Musichetta. The girls are red-eyed, and there’s obviously been a lot of tears shed and more still to come, but they’re strong and they’ll pull through, Musichetta is sure of that. They have each other, and that means they’re not alone.

Joly is finally allowed back into the hospital, so he’s thrown himself heavily into work there. Bossuet worries that he’s trying to make up for his perceived failure with Marius, because he knows Joly, and Joly will not stop until he has worked himself to the bone and made himself ill, and even then he’ll try and continue. His anxiety has only worsened, and he’s started pulling his hair like he used to during exam periods as a teenager, and it’s showing in little bald patches at his temple. Bossuet spends a lot of time wrapped tightly around Joly, murmuring quietly into his ear, holding his hands to keep them from pulling his hair out or worrying the threads on his clothing. The group can tell by the deep bags under both their eyes that sleep does not come easily to them.

Even those who were not particularly close to Marius, even those who hold no ounce of responsibility whatsoever, are affected. Bahorel is scowling constantly and is looking more beat-up than usual, and they have seen him punch walls and kick furniture for seemingly no reason. Feuilly’s chain-smoking habit has increased. Jehan is obviously being affected by the change in Courfeyrac, looking even more melancholy than usual – although he was often given to bouts of it before, now it seems almost permanent – and even, occasionally, lashing out. He’s become fiercely protective of Courfeyrac and so everyone tiptoes around him for fear of somehow provoking a flurry of sharp words and the occasional fist; Enjolras had, at some point, attempted to express apologies to Courfeyrac, which resulted in a deeply upset Courfeyrac and Jehan’s fist in Enjolras’ face. They haven’t seen much of Grantaire, as he spends most of his time with the girls, but when they do they see how the responsibility of being the strong one, for once, is wearing him down. If he comes in the day, he drinks Irish coffee, strong in both respects, and he shakes almost violently – the few times they’ve seen him of an evening, he’s out cold, or well on his way. Combeferre, when he is not by Enjolras’ side, or Courfeyrac’s – which, between them, is not a lot of time – is still his quiet, reserved self, but even he seems more sombre than usual.

It’s going to be strange for a long time, they know. Losing a member of a group as tight-knit as theirs – and the youngest and newest as well, the one that somehow they all felt a responsibility to, to protect – is so, so hard, on every single one of them. At this moment, it seems very hard, and almost wrong, to imagine that they could recover from this – that maybe Courfeyrac will be able to smile brightly again, that Enjolras’ fervour will return full-force, that Eponine will return to her feisty self and even Cosette will likely return – and so they don’t. They skirt around the empty chair, and stare, as if looking long enough will make them accept that Marius is not there and will not return.


	3. Our Friend, Our Friend, Forgive Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’ve been at rallies-turned-riots before. As much as they’re all supporters of peaceful protest, Enjolras is apparently far too good at stirring the masses, and it happens that sometimes the police or counter-movements turn up, and the crowds get antsy and then one wrong move makes it all turn violent. When it happens, Les Amis are always right in the middle of it – they never escape without a few minor, occasionally one or two major, injuries. They’d planned for it this time, knowing there was going to be a counter-protest and a high chance of a violent outbreak.
> 
> It’s Eponine who sees Marius go down.

They’ve been at rallies-turned-riots before. As much as they’re all supporters of peaceful protest, Enjolras is apparently far too good at stirring the masses, and it happens that sometimes the police or counter-movements turn up, and the crowds get antsy and then one wrong move makes it all turn violent. When it happens, Les Amis are always right in the middle of it – they never escape without a few minor, occasionally one or two major, injuries. They’d planned for it this time, knowing there was going to be a counter-protest and a high chance of a violent outbreak.

It’s Eponine who sees Marius go down. She’s been preoccupied with her own fight, but over the heads of some of the crowd separating them she sees him and watches as he drops like a stone.

“Bahorel!” she yells, knowing he’s somewhere nearby. “Get Marius!”

“On it!” comes the answering shout, and she punches the guy she’s fighting square in the nose, hearing a satisfying crunch and a yowl of pain, and breaks off to get over to the boys herself.

“Shit.” Bahorel curses, loudly, and Eponine can see why – as he scoops Marius up he carefully cradles his head, which is covered in blood, and quickly soaking Bahorel’s hand as well. “Get Joly!”

Eponine is already turning to push through the crowd before Bahorel gives her the instruction, and manages to locate Joly closer to the edge of the fray. Joly, generally, stays out of the thick of the fighting; he’s here to treat injuries and make sure everyone gets out okay. She hurries to him.

“Joly, Marius is hurt, it looks pretty bad.” She says, already starting to tug him over to where Bahorel had been heading with Marius. That’s all it takes for him to hurry with her, out and away from the crowd, where they can see Bahorel crouched against a wall, Marius in his arms. He looks up at them, and his eyes are wide, an expression that may almost be called fear if it weren’t on Bahorel’s face.

“He shouldn’t be bleeding this much, should he?” he asks. His shirt is absolutely soaked, and Eponine knows that head wounds bleed a lot, but Bahorel is definitely right in that there is far too much blood. Joly is quick to crouch down in front of Bahorel and start a check of Marius. Eponine is only more worried by the fact that his first movement is to check his pulse.

"We need an ambulance." Joly says as soon as he checks Marius' head. He sheds his jumper and wads it up, pressing it carefully to the back of Marius' head and using the sleeves to tie it in place. "He's taken one hell of a blow to the head, he's showing no signs of responding - this looks like serious head trauma."

"No way are we gonna get an ambulance down here." Bahorel muttered, shaking his head. The street was still crowded with protesters and police had now appeared to intervene.

"We'll take your car then." Eponine says. "We've got to go, now."

"Bahorel, you go ahead. Give me Marius." Joly says, straightening. His face is stony and serious - he's in doctor mode. Bahorel nods as he stands, still cradling the unconscious Marius, and passes him to Joly. The medic arranges him carefully - he's not able to pick Marius up like Bahorel can, but slings his arm over one shoulder instead. Eponine fits herself under Marius' other arm. Joly nudges Bahorel to start them moving, the boxer shoving a clear path for them, and starts shouting over the din of the crowd to Eponine.

"Text Enjolras, text Combeferre and text Cosette. Tell them Marius is hurt and we're taking him to Saint-Antoine." He instructs. Eponine nods and tries as best she can to text while half supporting Marius.

* * *

As soon as they get to the hospital Marius is whisked away by the emergency team. Joly fights to be allowed to follow, but to no avail - he is eventually forced to stay in the waiting room, pacing backwards and forwards agitatedly. Eponine has received texts from Combeferre and Cosette saying they're on their way - Combeferre has also assured Joly that everyone else has escaped with a few scrapes and bruises and nothing more than that.

When everyone else bursts in the waiting room is suddenly a chaos of questions. Joly and Eponine and Bahorel try as best they can to answer - saying that Marius has suffered some severe head trauma and he's being seen to by the emergency team and no they haven't heard anything since then - and then everyone clusters together and settles down to wait. Joly flitters from person to person, checking them over - as Combeferre said, a lot of bruises, a couple of cuts and scrapes, and Bossuet is going to have a magnificent shiner tomorrow, but otherwise they're fine - and then takes up his pacing again until Combeferre persuades him to sit. He’s out of his seat again in a matter of minutes.

Cosette is shaking, and she seems to be trying very hard not to cry as she huddles up under Eponine’s arm. Enjolras is muttering agitatedly to himself, and Combeferre is trying to soothe him. Feuilly arrives a little later than the others in order to fetch Bahorel a new shirt, and it’s obvious he’s glad to be out of the bloodsoaked one. Courfeyrac is murmuring soothing words to a worried Jehan, though probably as much to comfort himself as the poet; “He’ll be okay, of course he will, Marius is stronger than he looks, seriously the puppy eyes and the freckles catch everyone off guard but he’s strong, he’ll be okay...”

They are there for hours. Grantaire is asleep on Bahorel’s shoulder; Feuilly is folding leaflets into fans and paper cranes; Joly isn’t pacing anymore, now curled tightly into Bossuet’s side, a little ball of tension who occasionally bursts out with a stream of “I should be in there, I should be helping, I should be in there with him” before Bossuet kisses him quiet and rubs his back gently; Jehan and Courfeyrac have their eyes trained unwaveringly on the door. They’re the first ones to see the doctor returning, the scraping of their chairs alerting the others, who all look up, hopeful.

The doctor’s face is grim and every one of them feels a stab in their chest as they pray _no, no please no..._

“We did all we could.” The doctor says, and there is a collective catching of breath. Cosette starts to sob into Eponine’s shoulder. “There was severe haemorrhaging, a lot of damage to the vagus nerve. We tried operating, but his injuries were too severe. I’m sorry.”

There is a heartbeat and then a lot of things happen at once; Courfeyrac collapses, boneless, only steered into his chair by Jehan and Combeferre, who catch him; Joly starts shouting angrily and surges towards the doctor, only just restrained by Bossuet and Feuilly; Eponine, still clinging desperately to the crying Cosette, flings herself into Grantaire’s arms, the older man looking dazed as he wraps his arms around them and rocks them side to side gently.

“It’s your fault!” Joly screams at the doctor. “If you’d let me in, if I’d been there... I should have been in there, I should have been there to help, it’s my job to make sure they’re all okay, dammit, I should’ve-... I could’ve-... I-” and then he’s pulled tight against Bossuet’s chest, and his voice cracks and breaks but he’s still forcing out broken phrases. “It’s my job, it’s my job, it’s my fault, _it was my job and I failed_...”

Combeferre briefly leaves Courfeyrac’s side to talk to the doctor – they only exchange a few words before Combeferre nods, and the doctor leaves the room. Enjolras has sat heavily back in his chair, his head in his hands, and so Combeferre is the one in charge now; his eyes shine, and his voice sounds a little strained, but he has a quiet and sure authority.

“Grantaire, you take the girls home.” He says, and Grantaire nods solemnly, his hands rubbing their upper arms in an attempt at a comforting gesture. As he carefully steers them towards the exit, Bahorel following them – Grantaire doesn’t have a car and is probably not legal to drive it anyway – Bossuet catches his arm momentarily.

“I’ll send ‘Chetta over.” He murmurs, and Grantaire nods in understanding. The artist is close with Eponine, and fairly good friends with Cosette, but Musichetta completes their girl-gang-of-three, and they probably need her a lot more than they need him. Then Bossuet looks over to Feuilly, and asks “Could you drive us to the apartment? Joly needs me.” By that, he means that he doesn’t want to let go of Joly at any cost because he’s worried about what he’ll do, and he can see him already spiralling into hyperventilating and panic, and he needs to be there to ground him. Feuilly nods without hesitation, and Bossuet practically carries Joly out.

Combeferre returns to Jehan and Courfeyrac; Jehan is crying quietly, fingers gently combing through Courfeyrac’s curls. Courfeyrac is still slumped in the chair, tears silently streaming down his face, his whole body shaking, his eyes unfocused and staring ahead at nothing. Combeferre leans down to kiss the top of his head, and bestows the same gesture on Jehan, before turning to look at Enjolras. He still has his head in his hands, and when Combeferre touches him gently on the shoulder, he looks up with red-rimmed eyes. Combeferre brushes his thumb gently over Enjolras’ shoulder before moving to help Jehan pull Courfeyrac upright.

“Come on.” He whispers. “Let’s get home.”

They stumble out, and no-one sleeps that night.


	4. We Talked Of Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Combeferre’s flat is a bustle of activity. They’re all ready and waiting to set off to the rally, buzzing with excitement as always.

Enjolras and Combeferre’s flat is a bustle of activity. They’re all ready and waiting to set off to the rally, buzzing with excitement as always.

Jehan had at some point leapt at Bahorel with a battle cry, and the two are now wrestling on the floor, their taunting and shouting contributing most to the noise of the room. Feuilly steps out of the way as they roll past him – again – and kicks Bahorel with an exasperated noise.

“Come on, you two.” He reprimands. “Save your energy for the rally. We’re gonna be there a while.”

“But Feuilly, the rallies are absolutely boring.” Bahorel whines childishly from where he’s got his face pressed into the carpet. “I wasn’t built for peaceful protest – I’m made for revolutions and revolts!”

“Not if I can still pin you down, you’re not.” Jehan teases.

“I’m going easy on you, pipsqueak.” Bahorel retorts, and Feuilly sighs again. Of course they all know he _is_ going easy on Jehan – as much as the poet is a little fighter and very skilled, he is a good foot shorter than Bahorel and has nowhere near as much muscle mass – but it still provokes a wicked smirk and a cry of “Take that back!” before they’re off again. Feuilly makes sure to give them another kick as they go.

Combeferre makes a mildly exasperated face in his boyfriend’s direction – though it’s definitely hindered by fondness – before he turns back to discussing leaflets and speeches with Enjolras. It may be only a few minutes until they head off, but he’s still trying to make last-minutes tweaks. He’s also making sure they have everything they need – a small medkit for Joly to take, prepared for cuts and scrapes, mobiles all properly charged for communication, enough pamphlets to give out to the crowd, spare glasses for Combeferre (they’ve been knocked off his face enough times that it’s a precaution they like to take), and every little thing in between that they might need. This rally has a high chance of turning violent, and Enjolras is set on preparing down to every last detail to ensure he gets everyone out okay.

Courfeyrac has got himself slung over Marius and Grantaire’s shoulders as he talks excitedly to them. Joly is checking through his medkit and telling Bossuet to “be careful for god’s sake, I know you’re unlucky but I don’t understand how you manage to get punched in the face _every time_ ” while his boyfriend laughs good-naturedly. Courfeyrac is busy teasing Marius about Cosette, because they fuss over each other every rally, and also because she’s currently huddling and talking with Eponine and Musichetta and Marius never has gotten over the habit of staring longingly after her whenever she’s not directly by his side.

“I swear to god if I have to watch you making love-eyes a minute longer I’m going to be sick.” He mutters, nudging Marius with his hip. Marius shoots him a look and Courfeyrac just grins back. “Go on freckle-face; go say your last goodbyes.” Courfeyrac makes an over-dramatic gesture, putting the back of his hand to his forehead and exaggeratedly sobbing. Marius scoffs and hits him around the back of the head – Courfeyrac only cackles – before breaking off to approach the girls.

Eponine catches sight of him before he’s quite to them, and smirks.

“Here comes my ward.” She says, teasingly, and Marius makes a face at her.

“Haha, you’re hilarious ‘Ponine.”

“Damn right I am.” Eponine nods.

“You know, I can take care of myself.” Marius tells her, pouting just slightly.

“Yeah yeah, I believe you.” Eponine says in a tone that suggests she absolutely does not. “But I have been tasked by Madame to look after you, and so I will. God knows I’ve been doing it for long enough already anyway.”

Marius rolls his eyes but smiles as he tugs her close and hugs her tightly, knocking her cap forward and over her eyes. Once she pulls away, playfully cursing him, Cosette slots easily into his arms and leans up to kiss him. She’ll be staying at home with Musichetta and Gavroche; although Eponine’s little brother loves to pretend that 11 years old is most definitely old enough to be classed as one of the ‘big boys’, they always keep him away from rallies that they don’t think will be safe for him. Cosette and Musichetta will probably bake cakes or cookies or some other sweet treat with him, and as long as Gavroche doesn’t eat them all there’ll be some left for everyone when they return. Marius stands there with her for a few moments, his hands resting on her waist, talking quietly to each other and exchanging chaste kisses until Courfeyrac interrupts.

“Okay, come on loverbird, we’re going!” He calls.

“I’ll see you later.” Marius murmurs, kissing Cosette’s forehead before breaking off and heading over to the group. Enjolras is waiting impatiently for everyone to be ready; Jehan and Bahorel are still shoving each other every now and then; Feuilly is talking to Combeferre and Joly, taking a last minute inventory; Grantaire, who only comes along to watch Enjolras and ends up acting as some sort of bodyguard to him, stands with Eponine and Courfeyrac at the back of the group. Courfeyrac gestures again, impatiently.

“Be careful, boys.” Musichetta calls after them as Enjolras does a quick headcount and starts to lead them out of the apartment. Bossuet and Joly turn to blow her kisses.

“We will!” Courfeyrac replies, and with a grin and a few more waves from the group, they’re gone.


End file.
